𝙇𝙚𝙩 𝙈𝙚 𝙄𝙣.

Urges.

West stared at his front door. He'd been standing there for a couple of minutes, he couldn't bring himself to enter and face his father. Part of him felt like he was being overdramatic, and another part of him felt like he had the right to feel like this.

He took a deep breath then pushed the wooden door open.

He wasn't surprised to see his father sprawled out on the couch, asleep.
Beer bottles littered the mahogany coffee table, but upon closer inspection, he noticed that they were unopened. He frowned, then softly closed the door, so as to not disturb sleeping beauty. He tried sneaking up the stairs as quietly as possible, but of course, Lady Luck despised West Rickert. The final step creaked the creakiest creak it had ever creaked, which in turn, alerted Paul that there was somebody in the house. He sleepily called out to West, who felt like punching himself in the face. He gave up on trying to remain unseen and unheard, and sat at the top of the stairs.

Paul rubbed his eyes then tore himself from the worn leather couch. He grimaced at the sight of the beer bottles... he almost caved. He was grateful that he fell asleep before he could indulge in the slow poison again. He inclined his head towards the staircase and saw West watching him intently. He nervously gulped, then cautiously approached him so he could be seated next to him.

West said nothing. He stared blanky ahead as his dad sat by him on the top of the stairs. He saw Paul bury his head in his hands out of the corner of his eye, and he still said nothing. He only tilted his head a few moments later when he heard sniffles coming from his dad. He watched him with furrowed brows, and waited until the tears ceased. Even after that, Paul still kept on sniffling.

"Dad. Stop."

Paul glanced up at West.

"I'm not going to feel sorry for you just because you let out a few tears."

"That's not-- I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I just-- I need help, Weston. Please help me."

"Only you can help yourself."

"I can't do it without you, I need you. Please, don't cut me out of your life, son."

Irritation pricked at West. This sad and sorry Paul was aggravating and seemed too fake. His dad never begged. He wondered if it was all just an act. If tomorrow, Paul would pull out those "Sike" or "You thought" memes that Brittany sometimes sent to him in the middle of their texting conversations. He shook his head at the thought.

"Cut the act. We both know you never wanted me to begin with."

"No. No. That's not true. Your mother, she was the only woman I'd ever truly loved. You remind me so much of her, I'd never want you to go. I Deserve to burn in hell for the way I've treated you. And I'm willing to change. I want to change. I want to at least try. I know I failed you, I failed Jennifer, too. But please allow me to make things right, son. Please. You're the only thing, the only person that matters in my life. I Love you, Weston." Paul pleaded, his eyes quickly glazing over.

"No, you don't. You don't know the meaning. "

There was once a time when West would've jumped for joy at the mention of those 3 words, especially coming from his father. But Paul had shown him time and time again that Love didn't mean a thing. A person could say those words today, then turn around and hurt you the next day. Those words meant nothing to West, now. In his eyes, his father was just throwing those words around just so he could keep an emotional chain around him... so he'd feel guilty for wanting to leave.

"Son--"

West ignored his dad and left for his room, leaving him moping on the stairs.

To Hell with forgiveness.
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